IAN TAYLOR, who does about 50km a week on his bike, got much more than he bargained for when he accepted an invitation to sample what Majorca has to offer on a cycling break.

I TRAVELLED to Majorca many times in my formative years, content with a fortnight of debauchery in the pubs and clubs of Magaluf and Palma Nova.

The extent of my sporting activities on these sojourns was limited to a couple of lengths of the hotel pool and, if particularly energetic, a 20-minute stroll along the beach, with a round of golf looking decidedly out of bounds in anything hotter than 65 degrees.

So the opportunity of a return to Majorca for a nice, relaxing cycling holiday was very appealing. A gentle pedal from perhaps Alcudia to Puerto Pollensa, stopping off, of course, for an agreeable lunch washed down with a nice Rioja.

As I packed my extra padded Lycra shorts and Lance Armstrong tribute shirt, I imagined getting a nice tow in the slipstream of the Dutch or German ladies international teams, who use the excellent facilities at Playa de Muro as a training camp.

D’oh! Schoolboy error of the highest magnitude. When I received my itinerary the day before my flight, I almost choked on my erythropoietin, that’s EPO between you and me, and, yes, it’s a banned substance.

I contacted the organisers in a mild panic, convinced they had sent me someone else’s cycling agenda – possibly Tour de France winner Chris Froome or his pal Mark Cavendish.

No, no that’s correct Mr Taylor, 125km on the Friday and 107km on Saturday. The routes are planned and you’ll have a professional guide, the charming Faye assured me.

Now, I have no expectations of leading the peloton into Paris, garbed in the hallowed yellow jersey, though I did take offence at snide remarks about my last bike having stabilisers!

However, I admit my limited cycling in the last few years has seen me rack up a weekly average of perhaps 50km. My toughest climb is probably not quite a grade one ascent up Buchanan Street precinct to Queen Street Station in Glasgow.

So you can understand my trepidation when I met up with my four cycling colleagues, three of whom brought their own bikes, each of which cost slightly more than my car. The guys were clearly there on business, not pleasure, and the routes didn’t seem to set alarm bells ringing in them.

Our cycling guide Miquel is a legend on the island and a hero of the Majorca 312 – the longest cycle event held in Spain, covering 312 km through the most amazing spots of the Balearic Island. The race has 4300 metres of climbs and takes around 14 hours. I was starting to feel bouts of nausea sweeping over me.

Our host for the weekend was Iberostar Playa de Muro in the Bay of Alcudia. A beautiful complex set in stunning, natural surroundings with a glorious beach right on the doorstep.

Everything here is geared towards cyclists. The resort has over 800 bikes for hire and they’re top quality. I was fitted out with a carbon frame job that cost the thick end of £2000, so no excuses about my equipment.

After an extremely light breakfast – I couldn’t put anything in my mouth due to my hands shaking, and, no, it had nothing to with drink – we set out on our 125km route, with two climbs of around 750 metres, expected to take six hours.

With the temperature scheduled to hit 100 degrees in the shade, and there ain’t no shade, I felt like Lawrence of Arabia’s camel, the amount of water I was taking on. I would be being economical with the truth if I said I enjoyed that first day on the road.

Seemingly never-ending climbs resulted in me falling off several times through a combination of dehydration, fatigue and a symptom best described as being cream-crackered.

My saving grace was that as I was only travelling at around two miles per hour the damage was more to my pride than anything physical.

I lost count of the number of times Miquel came back from the head of the pack to pick me up and coax me back on that infernal machine. I’m not sure it’s allowed in competition but our super-fit guide literally pushed me up those hellish climbs, one hand on my back. Miquel, mate, I’d never have made it without you.

About three hours into the pain barrier for me, we stopped for alfresco lunches at two cracking cafe/restaurants – one high in the hills, almost a cyclist’s gang hut, and the other a brilliant pavement cafe in the lovely town of Arta.

Ian reckons he more than deserved a chilled refreshment after his efforts

The gaff in the hills served up local cheese and hams with tomatoes that would turn a Lanark farmer’s face red and blood pudding that would put Stornoway butchers in a black mood.

I was too feart to overindulge, as I was sure I’d be seeing my lunch again a few kilometres down the road.

Please don’t let my tales from the ditch put you off this fab resort. I was taking on more than I could handle but you can make life in the saddle as tough or as easy as you wish, with guided tours to suit all cyclists.

The food in the buffet and a la carte restaurants is top quality and with such excellent facilities it’s easy to see why teams like Sky and Garmin hold their winter camps here.

Sauna, Turkish baths and ice baths are there to ease your aching limbs and a Thai Zen Spa will set you up for another day on the road.

With the Tour de France now in full swing, I’m certainly looking at these guys in a very different light.

* I flew from Glasgow to Palma with Jet2holidays who offer specialist leisure cycling breaks to Majorca from £389 for one person per week. www.jet2holidays.com/cycling
, or call 0800 408 5599.